


Wheel of Westeros: Book Five Rise of Griff Part Three

by Thrafrau (annmcbee)



Series: Wheel of Westeros [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode: s07e03 The Queen's Justice, F/M, White Walkers, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau
Summary: Young Griff arrives at Winterfell and things don't go as he expected and hoped. Problems put enormous pressure on Daenerys, but Victarion has something to make her smile.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Val, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Young Griff/Daenerys Targaryen, Young Griff/Sansa Stark
Series: Wheel of Westeros [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Wheel of Westeros: Book Five Rise of Griff Part Three

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing in a limited POV style like Martin's. It's a suffocating way to write. I have thought of a lot of neat scenes that don't fit into the POV limits I set for myself, or don't move the story along quickly enough to include in the series. But I will if someone requests it. If you like this story, and would like to see a scene that got skipped or glossed over, OR that is in the POV of someone who is not a Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon, Greyjoy, or Lannister (including bastards), let me know what you'd like to see, and I will make a Wheel of Westeros B-side out of it.

**_The Wheel of Westeros_ **

**Book Five: Rise of Griff Part Three**

_Disclaimer:_

_This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s_ A Song of Ice and Fire _series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series,_ Game of Thrones _. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only_ Game of Thrones _and_ A Song of Ice and Fire, _but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten._

Chapter 1: Aegon “Griff” Targaryen VI

By the time his host had made their way along the knife to the King’s Road, Griff had had just about enough of the cold. Nothing he had been told could have prepared him. It was as painful as a burn when the skin was exposed for too long, and when it penetrated the bones, there was nothing one could do to stop the shivering and the chattering. He had piled on several layers of wool and furs, and when the sun went under a cloud, it still wasn’t enough to stop the deep violation of cold. _Why in all fuck would anyone intentionally live in this place,_ Duck had asked more than once. It was beautiful, however, Griff thought. The landscape was dream-like, otherworldly: hills and forests draped with a mantel of white, trees like glittering castles that housed birds and small furry critters. When the sun shone, the road and the riverbanks _sparkled_ , and when the wind died down, the snow floated in gentle swirls like apple blossom petals in the downturn of spring. The air was the most magical thing of all – so fresh and clean that he couldn’t stop sucking it deep into his lungs. _Do you smell that?_ Griff had asked Duck. _I don’t smell anything, sire,_ Duck said. _Exactly_!

Winterfell was visible from miles away, a massive stronghold that jutted out from the snowy slopes, gray and shadowy, flanked by miles of snow-covered woods to the west. The welcome party consisted of a grim-looking group, with the exception of a young lordly fellow in a sky-blue cloak, and a woman who could only be Lady Sansa Stark. The Lady of Winterfell rode out in front of her small host with her head held high. The hood of her cloak, though it covered her head against the light snowfall, did not hide her striking beauty. Her cream-white cheeks glowed the same pink as her lovely lips, and her eyes were a stunning marine blue. A thick braid of shiny red hair ended at her slim waist and drew the eyes up to the most slender and shapely neck Griff had ever seen…and that included his beloved Arianne. She spoke with an exuberant but elegant politeness as she welcomed Griff, and introduced her companions. The fellow in sky-blue was her lord husband Harrold Hardyng, who came with his man Lothor Brune of the Vale. A man all in black with a face almost as lovely as Sansa’s was Satin Flowers, a steward of the castle. Finally, a long lad with a plain face, wearing a cream-colored doublet with a heart aflame sewn onto it was Ser Devan Seaworth – formerly squire to Stannis Baratheon, now squire for Jon Snow, who to Griff’s surprise, called himself King in the North!

“The King looks forward to your arrival, Prince Aegon…” Sansa said, a sweet smile gracing her lips. Her eyes betrayed no fear or reluctance.

Duck and Griff looked at each other. “ _King_ in the North? Am I then to understand that I cannot expect fealty from you and your brother?”

Sansa looked serious, but not rattled. “You may understand only that _Myrcella Baratheon_ cannot expect such fealty, my prince. You we will name an honored guest, and a friend – for now. Come…the King awaits.” She smiled warmly, and turned her horse.

Griff signaled his host forward, as Lady Sansa made room for Griff to ride beside her along with Ser Barristan Selmy, his hand. Selmy shared words with Sansa, who had been a young maid at the court of King’s Landing when he’d last seen her. Young Ser Devan was all aflutter upon hearing from Griff that his mother was a guest at Dragonstone, but quickly became sober again. Griff never saw such a solemn youth, which was hard to credit given his mother was such a sweet, smiling woman. Griff felt a little tongue-tied when it came to conversing with Lady Sansa. Once closer to her he could see that she was exceedingly tall for a woman, and even lovelier in close proximity – like a living statue of the Maiden in alabaster. She seemed to sense his nervousness, and made small talk about the Northern weather to ease the tension, as a true lady – a true _princess_ – would.

“I feel as if it is almost another world,” Griff said finally about the North, with its sweeping gusty moors and tall pines draped in white.

Sansa sighed heavily at this. “You may not know just how true the import of those words, my prince. On that note, I do apologize for the state of the castle at the moment.”

“What do you mean, my lady?”

She sighed again. “It’s difficult to explain, your highness. You’ll see when we arrive.”

When they did arrive at last, Griff was shocked to see the damage that had been done to the castle. Several towers had been reduced to rubble or charred by fire. The keeps, stables and kennels were under intensive repair. Still, the place was impressive, as was the lineup of people who welcomed them as they entered the East Gate. It was as if the entire castle had come out to meet him, and not just people – there were two hairy mammoths, bigger than any of Griff’s elephants, a white direwolf the size of a destrier, with glowing red eyes, and standing above them all in the dead center, a giant. A real, living giant. Griff could hardly believe his eyes. _Gods be good_ , Duck gasped.

Jon Snow (or was it Stark now?) stood at the forefront, his wolf looming over one shoulder, a massive black raven perched on the other that called out _king, king, snow_ , as they rode up. The king was long in both face and body, and clad entirely in black, including a thick cloak lined in dark-grey fur. His hair and beard were as black as his cloak, and rather unkempt for a king, though Griff could certainly sympathize with that. Snow’s right eye was the center point of a star made of dark reddish scars, but he was not ugly otherwise. Griff was surprised to see he was young – perhaps younger than he was. He wore no crown, but it was obvious who the king was, and perhaps that was the point. When Griff dismounted and approached, the king bowed but did not kneel. His eyes, Griff saw, were as grey as the fur on his cloak.

“Welcome Prince Aegon,” said Jon Snow, who held out a gloved hand.

Griff grasped the hand firmly and said, “You may call me Griff.”

He didn’t add the proper address, and waited for Snow to bristle, but the Northman only smiled, and his cold eyes suddenly seemed very warm.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace,” he said. He turned to the massive wolf and gave a gentle command, calling him “Ghost.” The wolf loped off to the north end of the castle as silent as his name. “We’ll keep him penned in the lichyard until he goes hunting at night,” he told Griff. “Ghost and I are of a single mind, so you needn’t worry for your safety.”

“Unless we threaten yours, I suppose,” Griff said nervously. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he spied a giant boar, bigger than a bull, tied outside the stables with a thick braided rope around his gigantic neck. _Where in Seven Hells have I brought myself to? What next?_

“That’s Borroq, and you needn’t worry about him either. Nor Wun-Wun. They’re here in my service, thanks to the Freefolk,” Snow said.

He introduced Griff to his younger sister, Princess Arya, a thin sprite of a handsome young woman who wore a plain, slim black woolen frock with the Stark direwolf embroidered into the chest, and a thick grey overcoat buttoned snugly over it. Her lady’s maid stood next to her, dressed such that Griff thought she was a boy at first, in breeches and a jerkin. Arya looked much like her brother, and bowed rather than curtsying. The king’s auburn-haired teenage brother Brandon Stark was seated upon a kind of open litter. According to Snow, he had lost the use of his legs in a fall, which he implied was not accidental. The boy greeted him respectfully enough, but with a cold examining look that made Griff feel uneasy. Snow next introduced him to Lord Petyr Baelish, protector of the Vale and the man who had made Sansa’s escape from the capital possible. The king expressed gratitude about that, but there was a suspicion in his voice. Snow next introduced him to his lieutenants among the Wildlings, starting with an enormous fellow with a thick graying beard named Tormund Giantsbane and a gorgeous woman all in white fur named Val. It occurred to Griff that a good half or more of the people who had greeted him had come from north of the Wall. It was said that Jon Snow had conspired with an army of Wildlings to dismantle the Night’s Watch, for which he was condemned to death by Queen Myrcella. Griff did not mention this, but asked Jon Snow how it came to be that the Freefolk lived among the people of the North.

“It hasn’t been an easy peace, but it is necessary,” Snow said.

The king went on to tell a story that moved Griff almost to tears: his castle invaded and burned, his family members betrayed and murdered, his smallfolk abused or put to the sword. Griff had come bearing some resentment toward the Starks for their father’s part in what had happened to his family, but he now felt pity for the people of Winterfell. Though he probably should have consulted with his advisors first, he offered to donate all of the meat and fish stores he had brought with him to the castle.

“That’s most generous, your grace, but I couldn’t impose upon you,” Snow said bashfully. “Surely you’ll need it for the journey back.”

“I happen to be a skilled fisherman and hunter. The best I know,” Griff insisted. “We’ll have plenty.”

“It so happens I do well on a hunt myself,” Snow replied. “Perhaps you and I might go on a hunt in the Wolfswood one morning.”

“I’d like that.”

“I would as well…but you must be weary. Let me show you to the guest keep…Lord Stannis and his men have gone and left it empty in perfect time…”

When they had rested a while, a feast was served in the Great Hall of smoked and salted trout and salmon, roast beef and gravy with onions, parsnips and golden potatoes, buttered peas and green beans with garlic, fresh brown bread with herbed butter, a thick creamy stew of turnips and mushrooms, baked apples drenched in brown sugar, great wheels of sharp cheese, pumpkin pie, pheasant with cranberries, and a delicious moist apple cinnamon cake with raisins. Griff sat at the table of honor with Jon, Brandon, Sansa, Arya, Lord Harrold and Lord Tormund (who laughed when Griff called him that.) None of them stayed put, however, but moved throughout the hall among the people, as they had invited their stewards, head housekeepers, and foreman to partake of the feast as well. They toasted to their good work with big tankards of a very strong and very unusual ale, of which Griff would have happily bought a barrel if he thought they could spare it.

In the spirit of the evening, Griff wandered about the hall with Duck at his side, landing first at a table with Princess Arya. Griff praised the cake, having learned that the younger princess had baked it herself. He was even more surprised to learn that she had learned cookery while on the run from King’s Landing, during which time she had disguised herself as a servant, cooking, scrubbing floors, and washing dishes at Harrenhall. Griff got the impression those were dark times for her. He was thankful his only master had been Connington, having known that other boys who worked at swabbing ship decks usually weren’t so lucky. When the princess mentioned she had traveled with the Brotherhood Without Banners, she really got Griff’s attention. She insisted she’d only been a child and didn’t know much of their doings when they’d first nabbed her. The princess had a fierce and fiery wit about her, but at times she drifted into what Duck called the “soldier’s stare,” when her eyes would glaze over and she would seem to be looking at a point far, far away. She admitted to reconnecting with them after returning from Braavos after some years, but what she had been doing in the free city was secret. Griff didn’t care about that. It was the Brotherhood he was interested in, but the princess remained a closed book. Finally, she gathered some leftovers into a trencher and made her excuses, saying she was taking them out to a friend – a begging brother who was abstaining from the feast.

From across the hall, Griff watched Princess Sansa and her ladies laughing gaily and whispering. When someone of importance, like young Ser Devan, seemed to be alone, she made a point of talking to them, and soon had them laughing and blushing. She was graceful, pleasant, and courteous with everyone, as was her Lord husband to a point, though Griff noticed he drank heavily and seemed rather over friendly with some of the women servants. Sansa wore a long black velvet gown, cinched at the middle with a corset of gray feathers. Around her neck, she wore a long silver chain with something like a letter opener at the end of it – no, _a knife_. Varys was spending a lot of time with Lord Baelish, who bowed when Griff caught his eye. Ser Loras and Satin Flowers had eaten at a table together. It made sense, as they were both men of the Reach, and Loras thought he might have met the man, though he could not remember when. As the evening went on, Griff lost sight of both of them.

As for Jon Snow… people seemed to gravitate toward him. The Freefolk were very familiar and forward with him, Griff noticed, hugging him, throttling him, clapping him on the back. Jon Snow only smiled and drank his ale, not minding that their affections caused it to spill all over him. When a subject wanted to speak to him, he came to them, rather than making them come to him, never insisting they avert their gaze, but just the opposite. When a mother presented her children, he bent to a knee, bringing himself down to their level, and Griff saw that the presence of children made his smile wider and warmer than usual. Griff caught himself thinking, _that’s the way I want to be. I want my people to bring me their babies to kiss…_

Suddenly, there was a commotion at one of the tables where the Freefolk had been eating. A woman had fainted to the floor, and there was much concern, because it was Val – a person of some importance in their ranks. Most interesting however, was the speed at which Snow dashed over to the spot, and dove to his knees beside her. He lifted her very gently back onto the bench, and Sansa’s lady noted that was the second time she had collapsed that day. _Thanks much Alys_ , Griff heard Val hiss when he made his way to the scene. Jon Snow touched her cheek softly, a look of deep worry on his face. He kissed her on the eyebrow and spoke to her so quietly no one could hear. Suddenly, Griff missed Arianne terribly. At that point, Lady Sansa made the announcement that the time for feasting was over. Tomorrow was another day of hard work, she told everyone, and it was time for all to rest.

The hall began to disperse. Griff watched as Snow’s sisters kissed him in turn, Arya kissing him double. The sisters clutched arms as they kissed each other as well, and exchanged a kind of knowing look, holding hands for a lengthened moment before finally separating. Then Jon Snow and Lord Harrold picked up Prince Bran, supporting his legs in their hands, and his arms around their necks. _Look how they support him,_ [1]Griff thought, and felt a terrible longing and sadness wash over him. Winterfell was impoverished, nearly destroyed, but the wolf pack was together. They had something Griff had never had. In his bed, Griff’s thoughts went again to the mother and sister he had never known. Princess Arya had seen her family die, but at least she had known them – had been held by them, kissed by them, fed and taught by them. His sadness quickly turned to rage as he drifted off. _Don’t let the sun go down on your anger,_ Septa Lemore always said.[2] But he was drunk and very tired, and so it did.

Chapter 2: Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, and Queen of the Free Cities

The sun was sinking, and Dany felt like a human bumblebee. Victarion was coming home, and just as importantly, Lord Tyrion was returning with Aggo from Norvos. Dany was in desperate need of someone who could think like her – her own brain felt like it was stuffed with wool. She hadn’t been sleeping. Jhiqui had made her a tea with vanilla and chamomile, and Archmaester Marwyn added his own special ingredient that he said would also move her bowels. He insisted that the blockage of the mind was often due to a blockage elsewhere. He read to her now, while she reclined on the couch in her solar, from _Legends of the Land of Always Winter_. He had a deep rumbling voice that soothed her nerves, though the content of the slim volume, which provided what little history of the Others that existed, wasn’t exactly calming. When Marwyn came to the part that talked about wights, and the way the power of the “white walkers” transferred into the bodies of the slain, who rose again as murderous automatons, he stopped.

“Your grace…why not read some poetry instead,” Marwyn said. “I have here the odes and ballads of Ilyria of Pentos…very dark and romantic, like your grace herself…”

“Keep reading,” Dany ordered. “As you were…”

“What about your tea? You ought not let it get cold…”

“Stuff your shitmaker tea, Archmaester, and get your beetle brow back in those _Legends_.”

Marwyn put down the tea he’d been holding out to her, and picked up the old tome.

“Archmaester?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“I’m sorry about the beetle brow comment. I appreciate your help with my…blockage.”[3]

“That’s quite all right, your grace.”

“You may read me some poetry if you like…”

The old mastiff picked up a tiny book with a red leather cover and flipped to a page he had marked. He cleared his throat and read a very appropriate verse for what Dany was feeling:

_There’s something coming to the surface_

_There’s fire all around_

_But this is all illusion_

_I’ve seen better days than this one_

_I’ve seen better nights than this one_

_Tension is rebuilding… **[4]**_

Missandei came announcing that Lord Tyrion had arrived, and Dany sprung up, patting the wrinkles out of her gown, a modest dark blue samite with an inner skirt of purple silk and a purple silken corset embellished with a belt of gold and gold tassels. She checked with Missandei to make sure her headdress was still straight. The gold crown of crescents with giant embedded amethysts tended to go crooked. It had been long since she had seen the advisor who had been so instrumental in the taking of Yunkai and Mereen. When he entered the solar, she knelt to embrace him as gracefully as she could – she often thought about the number of hugs a dwarf lost to the challenge of it. Tyrion was fond of physical affection. Aggo kissed her hand before she dismissed him, knowing how much he would have missed the blood of his blood being away so long. Tyrion, however, she begged to stay along with Missandei and Marwyn. Tyrion did not yet know what had happened when Dany had gone to the North.

It had looked like a gigantic dark mass at first – a sort of black, wavy lake. She felt Drogon resisting her as she drew closer, and quickly she knew why. Hundreds of thousands of wights stood slumped in a crowd just at the edge of the Haunted Forest. They had no formation – no apparent cavalry, no lines of archers or spears – but the sheer number of them was astounding. It wasn’t that, however, that filled her with a blinding terror. It was the figures at the front of the mass of dead men, which looked like slivers of light at some angles, and mirror reflections of the ice and snow around them in others. When Drogon pivoted just right, she could see their impossibly long, shimmering white bodies, sitting atop glittering eight-legged beasts with eight eyes each that shone the same blue as those of their riders. She was able to estimate their number loosely before she lost control of her bladder. She didn’t tell Tyrion that part.

“There were a hundred of them, I think. The generals – the…Walkers,” Dany said.

“Did they move? Did they see you?” Tyrion said, aghast.

“I don’t know if they saw me…I fled. I was afraid for my life and for Drogon’s. But they didn’t seem to be moving at all. Or perhaps they were just moving extremely slowly…”

Dany felt embarrassed at how frightened she had been. She now understood the fear Jon Snow must have felt – that Mother Mole and her people must have felt, to make them give themselves over to slavery in order to escape. Jon Snow, thankfully, was alive. Marwyn was shocked to hear this, and swore again that he had seen the man fall dead amid a hive of daggers. However, when Dany had flown in a panic to the Wall at Long Barrow, the men of the Night’s Watch, one named Emmett and another called Edd, insisted that he was alive and had only been banished. Word was that he had retaken Winterfell, so Dany wrote him a short, panicked letter before leaving. She told this Emmett and Edd to take their charges, a large band of Freefolk that Jon Snow had rescued, and go south. She didn’t know whether they listened to her.

Tyrion was incredulous, and Dany was glad for Marwyn’s insistence that this was not some fever dream she had fallen into from sucking in too much wind over the Narrow Sea. It was by far the longest journey she had taken by dragon, but she saw what she saw.

“If they find a way past the Wall, then the Seven Kingdoms is lost,” Dany told Tyrion.

“My queen, your kingdom here is at a very pivotal moment. The disputed lands are on the cusp. We have them if Victarion moves now.”

“And he will move now, but…”

Dany hadn’t told Marwyn of the other complications that had arisen since she made it back to Volantis. The slaves in Lys, Myr and Tyrosh had risen up, and were gradually subduing the masters of those cities. The first masters to surrender to their slaves would find their own city with dominion over the disputed lands, by rule of Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, and Queen of the Free Cities. Currently, it looked like Myr was caving, but the other two would follow. When the slaves took over, a peace treaty already in the works would see an end to the war for the disputed lands at last. It was all falling into place, but there was a problem.

A network of slavers, remnants of the Sons of the Harpy, had begun fomenting resistance to the restrictions set by Marwyn and enforced by Victarion. The plague had begun to wane, slowly but surely. The water in the rivers and streams was clearing up, the stench of rot and death was almost indiscernible, and there were no more giant pyres piled with the dead that could be seen burning for miles. They were by no means home free, however. If the restrictions were loosened, the number of infections could again spike, and Dany could lose more of her soldiers and her people – and she had already worn through two black gowns. She had shed too much grief weight, making her look frail and bony, and her flesh was finally returning. Now these slavers were goading citizens into rebellion against the orders, citizens who had heretofore been cooperative. Branrick of Westeros had been the one to report the issue, and to attribute it to her enemies. He had been successful in marketing his potent potion, the “Falia’s Bane” to those looking to replace slaving as their trade, but these Harpy eggs were spoiling everything by spreading false rumors that the plague was gone, or even that it had been some kind of trick in the first place. It was easy to believe in the western territories, in which the plague hadn’t been as devastating or as visible.

Marwyn was livid to hear this. His broad face glowed purple and he paced back and forth like a spooked horse. “If they start wandering about the waterways, we’ll be right back where we started, damn it,” he spat.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, your grace, I think Victarion’s methods might be at fault here,” Tyrion said. “Our captain can be a bit…boisterous.”

Tyrion did not at all approve of Dany’s marriage to the Ironborn captain, and the animosity was quite mutual. About this, however, he was right, but Victarion could be appeased when in the right mood. He had promised to give over his dragon-binding horn, and to ask her first before ever using it. He was irritatingly stubborn and often bad-tempered, but Dany did miss him. More precisely, she missed his huge arms and muscled body, and more precisely still, she missed his big cock.

“I’ll speak to him tonight. The Iron Victory is due at nightfall,” she told Tyrion.

“Thanks for the warning,” Tyrion said. “By the way, when was the last time you spoke to this Branrick fellow?”

“It’s been more than a week…why?”

“Captain Aggo and I went north as you instructed, to seek Branrick’s daughter…or sister, or whatever. It seems she does exist, and has a sizable fleet, not to mention an army of Ironborn sailors slavishly devoted to her.”

Dany had asked Tyrion to follow Branrick’s path to its origin, to see if the woman with whom he was forming a dope empire actually existed, for he had called her both daughter and sister on different occasions. Dany supposed it could be both, had he somehow coupled with his own mother, knowingly or unknowingly. Branrick had been tortured – his fingers hacked off and his teeth broken to bits – and imprisoned at some point as a punishment for some crime he would not talk about. He was a deferent, skittish creature who always seemed to be waiting for a kick to the face. For that reason, Dany had never called him on his inconsistencies. Perhaps a dalliance with (or the rape of) his mother had been his crime, or perhaps he was lying for some boss in the operation. From what Tyrion said, it seemed like it might be the latter.

“How old would you say she is? I take it she has little enough in common with Branrick,” Dany said. She was unsure of Branrick’s age. At first glance, he seemed to be somewhere in his fifties, but at times he seemed much younger, especially his voice.

“That’s something else…” Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine and took a sip. “This woman is in her twenties probably, which would lead me to believe she is his daughter. But, there was something about her face, something dreadfully familiar that I couldn’t put my finger on. We were in the Forest of Qohor, when Aggo made some comment about squid. Naturally I asked him what the devil he was talking about, and he said he had seen a squid symbol on a shield held by one of her men…”

“You mean a kraken sigil!”

“I knew you would fall in step with me.” Tyrion smiled warmly at her and tossed back his wine before pouring another cup. “I then thought about what you said Victarion told you about Asha Greyjoy, that she had made a play for rule of the Iron Islands and lost to Euron…”

“And if Victarion is here, and Euron is there, then where is the princess?”

“More curiously, where is Theon Greyjoy? Last I knew, he had tried to take Winterfell, but lost it to Roose Bolton, whose bastard son took over the castle.”

“It sounds like both Theon and Asha Greyjoy should be dead, one way or another…”

“But what if they aren’t?”

Dany’s mind was racing. If Jon Snow had indeed returned to Winterfell, perhaps he knew the fate of the Ironborn prince. She should have requested a response from him in her letter, but at the time, terror had numbed her fingers so that she could barely write at all.

“Your grace, if you leave for Westeros now, your enemies here will take advantage. We just need a bit more time. Just enough time to install your husband, unload said husband, and officially relinquish…”

“Euron Greyjoy said he was going to give the queen a gift,” Missandei said then. “What do you think he meant?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too, my lady,” Tyrion said.

They sat in silence for a moment. Marwyn had still been pacing, but he stopped at the mention of Euron.

“If Euron gives you a gift, dear queen, I recommend you not accept it,” the Archmaester said. “Furthermore, none of this will come to anything if the plague returns. If the Wall remains standing, then the people of Westeros are safe.”

“Well then they are safe,” Tyrion said. “Aren’t they?”

“The Wall is only as strong as the men guarding it,” Marwyn said. “And alive or dead, Jon Snow is no longer guarding it. That bodes ill.”

“I never thought I would leave these shores without every slave being free first. Now there is a timer on their freedom,” Dany said sadly.

“We must count on the strength of the Wall just a little longer…” Tyrion said.

Dany shook her head. Missandei had already gone to retrieve the latest letter from Griff. When she returned, she handed it to Tyrion, who read it aloud.

_My dearest Daenerys,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Ser Barristan has arrived, and I could not be more grateful or in debt for his service, for he is honorable as you say and as wise. Since he has been with us, my thoughts have been strongly bent on you, my beloved princess, and how much I have failed you as your kinsman and your king. Despite how powerful and formidable I know you to be, I cannot help but agonize over the thought of you alone, and vulnerable to all the evils to which a princess is susceptible. I have come to feel that I have abandoned you, and acted selfishly. I wish now more than ever that we were together as husband and wife. By the time this letter reaches you, I will be on my way to Winterfell in the North with my army, in an attempt to return power to Lady Sansa Stark. As you know, Ned Stark paid dearly for his involvement in the destruction of our family, and his daughter may still be the key to the North. When I return to Dragonstone, I would have you come as soon as you are able, so that we may immediately be married. The Storm Crows guard the island now, to protect my guests, including Princess Arianne. Come to Dragonstone, my love, meet Arianne, and when I return, be my wife. If you are compelled to return to the Free Cities after in order to continue your efforts, I would fully understand. But please come, and let us be joined at last in the eyes of the Gods, for I love you as ever, and I am heartsick to know you are alone._

_Your loving and devoted,_

_Aegon “Griff” Targaryen VI_

Tyrion sighed heavily when he had finished reading and looked sympathetically at Dany.

“I think Griff is desperate to marry Arianne...and what do I tell him?” Dany said, shaking her head so that the tassels on her headdress rattled.

“Perhaps Griff would understand that the marriage to Victarion is necessary,” Tyrion said, but Dany could see he doubted it as soon as he’d said it.

She had Stannis Baratheon coming to Pentos. She had a husband not yet ready for the city, or the annulment, she wanted to give him. She had the Sons of the Harpy trying to make the plague return. She had a new product that, as it turned out, may have been the work of her enemies…and now an ancient evil threatened to turn her homeland to a kingdom of walking corpses. Her only hope was that Griff might see the letter she sent to Jon Snow. If even one of these men came with an army, with Stannis’s host, the Fiery Hands, the Second Sons, the Unsullied, and the Dothraki bloodriders, maybe it would be enough. Just one more push – that was all she needed. That is, if nothing else went wrong.

They agreed to put their heads together in the morning. Tyrion would consult his books, and Marwyn would consult his glass candle. Dany limited herself to one glass of wine before going to bed. She saw the way Tyrion sometimes drank himself sick, and she feared her woes turning her into a sot. There was one other thing that would help massage her nerves, and that still hadn’t come into port. Later, however, when she and Missandei had nearly drifted off in each other’s arms in the bed, a light shone into Dany’s chambers, and Lady Maebi’s voice sang in from the corridor outside, _guess who it is, Khaleesi_ … Victarion came in and kicked off his boots immediately. He gently shook Missandei awake by the shoulder, and motioned with his thumb for her to find her own bed. When her herald-advisor had gotten up yawning and stumbled out of the room, Victarion undressed. As he approached the bed, Dany tugged playfully at the straps of her nightgown.

“Oh! I can’t get it off,” she said, pretending to frown.

Victarion smiled and clutched the front of the gown with a hand and a writhing tentacle, and rent the thing in half, tearing it from Dany’s body. He took her chin in his hand and brought his mouth to hers, and they kissed long, his tentacle creeping down her ribcage to her tailbone and pulling her down onto her back. She moaned when he entered her, and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him. The thoughts that had troubled her earlier fizzled away as his thrusts filled her, and his groans echoed in her ears. Victarion chewed and licked her breasts and neck and throat, caressing her roughly on her behind and between her cheeks. She cried out, _yes, do that please_ , and the tentacle made its way into her anus just a bit – just enough to make every nerve ending from the between her legs, to the base of her spine, to the pit of her stomach vibrate and whirr. Soon she was howling with pleasure. Victarion moaned a curse, and at last shuddered to a halt. Dany’s legs felt like jelly, and she lay limp after Victarion rose, letting a gentle breeze from the window dry the sweat on her belly and chest.

In the dark she heard Victarion’s voice, panting. “I brought you what you wanted…”

When Dany sat up, she saw Victarion standing naked at the window.

“Come,” he said. “Come and see…”

Dany went to the window and stood in front of her husband, who rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked below to the reflecting pool outside the manse. A heron stood at the edge, still as a statue. Fireflies did their romantic dance in the air that smelled of frangipani and salt. In the water, Dany saw something that made her gasp. At first, it seemed to be some kind of black serpent, awaiting in the water to snatch the heron into its jaws, but when she squinted her eyes, she saw Valyrian glyphs on its black skin. This was no live creature, but a huge horn, as if from some ancient monstrous bull or giant prehistoric gazelle.

“Is that it? Is that the Hellhorn? The Dragonbinder?”

“The very one,” Victarion said.

His voice wavered slightly, almost as if he were beginning to cry, but of course, that could not be. The tentacle found its way around her throat then, gently at first, and then firmly, adding pressure, until Dany’s breath was caught. Just as quickly, it loosened again, and Dany turned to face her husband. She realized she hadn’t yet really looked in his eyes, but now she could see they were bloodshot and drooping.

“You haven’t slept either?” Dany asked him.

Victarion shook his head. Dany knelt down, and as she brought him into her mouth, she imagined blowing an enormous, powerful and magical horn.

Chapter Three: Griff

After everyone had broken their fast, Griff went to the great hall of Winterfell for negotiations. He hated how nervous he was, and wished more than ever that he had Connington with him. Even together with Duck, Selmy, Loras, and Varys, he was heavily outnumbered. In addition to his family and his henchmen, Jon Snow had the lords of the Vale, as well as some Freefolk generals and the Lords Glover and Manderly of the North. Griff could bet Snow was far less nervous, because he was far less alone. Snow gave Griff the floor first.

“Lords…Ladies. All of us here know that the wrong ruler sits on the Iron Throne. Worse, the ruler doesn’t sit at all, but uses her daughter as a puppet while she drains the smallfolk of their resources and allows lawlessness and cruelty to reign throughout the kingdoms. You Starks lost half your family to the Lannisters, and I lost nearly all of mine – but together we can rid the realm of this tyrant. Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the Seven Kingdoms have ever known – centuries of peace and prosperity, with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne, and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee, and I will not only name you Warden of the North, but I will devote my coffers to the reconstruction of Winterfell, and to keeping the North fed during the coming winter. Together, we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”

Duck clapped his hands foolishly until Griff sat and gave him a look. Then Jon Snow rose. His bird quarked, _King Snow_ , like a grim herald. He took the bird off his shoulder and kissed it on the top of its head, then threw it upward. It cooed then flapped its way to the rafters high above.

“My ancestor, Torren Stark, bent the knee to your ancestor Aegon centuries ago, it’s true, your grace. But I am obligated to the will of my brother, Robb Stark, who my people named King in the North. I cannot bend my knee to either you, or Myrcella Baratheon at this time.”

Glover and Manderly banged approvingly on their tables, and the Wildlings hooted until Jon glared at them, at which time the man Tormund told them to _shut it._

“So,” Griff said, gritting his teeth. “I’ve traveled all this way to see you break faith with House Targaryen, after centuries of loyalty?”

“Break faith,” Snow said. “Your grandfather burned my grandfather alive and strangled my uncle. Your father kidnapped and raped my aunt…”

“That’s a lie!” Griff shouted, but then quickly regained composure, though he could feel his face reddening. _In through the nose, out through the mouth._

“My grandfather was an evil man,” Griff said more calmly. “And my father was wrong to do what he did, and he paid for it _with your father’s help_ , as did my mother and sister. On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for the wrongs done to your family, and for you not to judge a son for the crimes of his forefathers.”

“You’re right,” Snow said. “You’re not guilty of your father and grandfather’s crimes – and I’m not beholden to my ancestor’s vows. Yet I do want to heal the wounds between our houses as much as anyone, because the fact is, I need your help, and you need mine – and we need Myrcella Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen both.”

“For your information, I _have_ Daenerys. She is my betrothed, and we are to marry within the month if all goes as planned. The only reason she hasn’t stormed King’s Landing and razed it to ashes is because she doesn’t want to kill thousands of ostensibly innocent people. So I don’t see why I need your help if I have her – and I most certainly don’t need help from my enemy.”

Jon Snow took a breath then, and seemed to struggle in looking Griff in the eye. “Your grace, the truth is that everyone in this realm will die, if we don’t defeat the enemy to the North.”

“As far as I can see, _you_ are the enemy to the North.”

“I am not your enemy…the Others are the enemy.”

“Come again?” Once again, Griff felt like he had gone through some portal into another world. Part of him wished he could get on his horse and ride to White Harbor immediately.

“The Others are leading an army of the dead toward the Wall as we speak. It takes fire to kill these wights, and so Daenerys must be our infantry…and Myrcella our remote fire.”

“Army of the dead? Is this a joke? Tell me Jon Snow…are you a madman, or just a liar?”

The Freefolk did not like that one bit and neither did young Seaworth, Satin Flowers, and the Northern Lords. Soon swords were drawn on all sides, but Jon halted his men. Princess Sansa stood then, and suddenly all eyes were on her. She looked lovelier than ever in a black samite gown embossed with black leather, with a collar of sable fur. Her hair was piled upon her head in two bundles of braids, with the exception of a fringe that trailed over her shoulders. She walked around the table, and stood beside her brother.

“You don’t believe Jon,” she said. “I understand that. It sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought dragons into the world and saved Prince Rhaegar’s son from the Mountain’s sword, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North.” She looked at Princess Arya, who smiled. Then she looped her arms around Jon’s, and held his hand. “I’m told you were the first to bring elephants to Westeros. That Daenerys was the first to unite the Dothraki. Jon is the first to make allies of Wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch at eighteen. He was named King in the North, not only because of Robb’s will – he wouldn’t accept it outright, because he felt as a bastard he had no right to it, but the people of the North wanted him as their leader, because they love him. He has made them believe in him.”

Devan Seaworth stood and spoke, “If you please, your grace, I tell you that the Others are real. The army of the dead is real. I’ve seen them and so have many of us here. All those things you don’t believe in? He faced those things. He fought those things at his own peril, to save his people – to save _your_ people. His risked his life for them…he died for th…” Satin Flowers clutched the lad’s arm suddenly and gave him a stern look.

“If we don’t put aside our enmities and band together we will all die,” Jon Snow said finally. “Then it will matter not who sits on what throne in which kingdom. So I ask you to trust that I am not a liar or a madman, and I will trust the same of you.”[5]

Griff only now realized he hadn’t even been asked whether he was a pretender. Whether or not this tale of the Others was true, they obviously believed it – so much that it didn’t matter whether or not he could prove who he was.

“What about Euron Greyjoy? Are we supposed to ally with him?” Griff asked.

Sansa answered that. “He has aligned himself with Cersei and Myrcella, and if that’s the case, we may indeed have to treat with him.”

Griff looked at the ceiling and fell back onto the bench, disheartened. The raven sat quietly on a rafter, looking down at its master. He suddenly thought of Loras’s brother Willas and his hawks. Loras hadn’t heard from Willas at all since they’d been driven from Highgarden by Euron’s storm. He could see now that Loras did not care for this talk of treating with Euron.

“Were you aware that he has taken Oldtown?” Griff asked. “That he used some sorcery to slaughter many of my men?” _In through the nose, out through the mouth._

“And Cersei fixed the death of my father, and likely my brother as well. I’m no more happy about a truce with these odious despots than you, prince, believe me. But if Euron is capable of some magic, he may be of use. The maesters of Oldtown may have access to some knowledge that could help us…we need any resources we can get, your grace.”

“This is unbelievable. I’m supposed to put down arms against my enemies, and look the other way at active rebellion, based on what? Our mutual trust?”

“Your grace,” Ser Barristan spoke up. “Suppose we were to foster young Bran at Dragonstone…a hostage would be one way to assure peace with House Stark, and allegiance, if not fealty, once this…threat beyond the Wall is dealt with.”

Jon Snow’s grey eyes grew wide. “No. Absolutely not. I forbid that.”

“Your grace,” Griff made himself say, to the surprise of his men, he could see. “You want me to stay here in the North to fight an enemy I’ve never seen, that I’ve been taught does not exist, on the word of a man I don’t know, after a single meeting. That is not a reasonable thing to ask.[6] I think asking for a hostage is quite reasonable in comparison.”

“It’s all right, Jon,” Prince Bran said suddenly and without expression. “I’ll go, if that will help us.”

“No… _I forbid it!_ _I will not let him go_ …” Snow’s face became fierce. He almost seemed to bare his teeth, and his eyes seemed to flash. Griff realized he wasn’t the only one in the room with a temper.

“Then I don’t see why I should grant anything you ask,” Griff said. “It’s evident that I’m the only one being asked to make concessions, and I did not come here to be taken advantage of. It seems to me, king, that you have lost sight of your place…”

“My place.”

“ _You_ are the one in need of food and supplies, living in a ruined castle. _You_ are the one who’s condemned to die by the current ruling body. The Southrons still call _you_ the Black Bastard and swear you meant to dismantle the Watch and turn an army of Wildlings loose on the people of Westeros…”

“And I’m told you’re a foreign invader who may…”

“Your grace King Jon!” Suddenly a small voice interrupted their verbal melee. A slight-looking maester hobbled in breathlessly with a raven scroll in hand. He ran up to Jon Snow, seemingly oblivious to the thick tension in the air of the hall. “This came from a raven of the Wall, sire! It’s signed by Daenerys of House Targaryen!”

“What?” Griff forgot the argument with Snow and ran to see.

Jon Snow read it first, and his face went very pale. Griff held out his hand.

“I need to see that now,” he said firmly. Jon Snow complied with a grim look.

_Dear Jon Snow,_

_I pray that you will receive this, or that the one who does is as brave as you seem to be. I have been beyond the Wall on my dragon, Drogon the Black. I have seen an army of dead men, led by what seems to be Others, just at the edge of the Haunted Forest. One hundred thousand at least. Oh Jon Snow, how I want to help you now. But if you knew the sufferings of my people. Of the way slavers crucify young children to warn others of escaping. Of the women who must bear the daughters of the men who rape them and watch them be raped in turn by their own sires. Of the young boys made to raise a pup and then drown it to rid them of feeling. Of the brandings and scourging and cries of hopelessness and pain. Then you would see why I am at a loss. I want to help Jon Snow. These Others must be stopped before they start, for if they come, we are lost!_

_Please help me that I can help you._

_\- Daenerys Stormborn_

Griff could hardly believe what he was reading. It couldn’t be a trick. Even if Jon Snow somehow knew the name of Dany’s dragon, or knew about the crucified children and the Unsullied’s pups, no one could have forged her handwriting so convincingly. Yet, it was written in a voice so frantic, and the prose was so clumsy. It was her, but unlike her.

“It’s Dany’s hand,” Griff said. “But…it sounds so…it doesn’t sound like her voice…she’s usually so…”

“She’s afraid,” Jon Snow said.

Griff looked at the king’s dour white face, and knew he was right.

[1] Donner, Clive. _A Christmas Carol_ , Entertainment Partners, Ltd., 1984.

[2] Book of _Ephesians_. 4:26

[3] Reitman, Ivan. _Ghostbusters_ , Columbia Pictures, 1984.

[4] Beastie Boys, “Something’s Got to Give,” _Check Your Head_ , Capitol Records, 1992.

[5] David Benioff & D.B. Weiss. _Game of Thrones_ , Season 7, Episode 3: “The Queen’s Justice,” HBO, 2017.

[6] Benioff & Weiss, GOT 7:3.


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